Laissez-faire
by Aeria Swordlancer
Summary: In a land where the essence of politics is a historic clash between two factions that have failed to meet halfway thus far, four individuals must learn how to get past their prejudices and obligations to find the missing fragment that they have forever longed for. Ryuugiri and Masshin AU.


**(A/N): I have bucketloads of stories to** **pay attention to at the moment, and here I am, falling head over heels in love with a fandom that was created just a few weeks ago. Because I've an impressionable shipper's heart, and 'coz I'm a sucker for this lovely pairing that is my newfound obsession, I decided to follow my instincts and write this down. ****This is an AU story with a dash of politics in it (I decided to put my degree in Political Science to some good use in here) and I've tried drawing as many parallels as I could with what's canon in the 'Everything but the rain' arc. Forgive me, oh dear Masshin shippers, if I seem to tilt a little towards Ryuugiri in here. I just love them too much to not let them have an edge over the former.  
**

**Important note: I had a burst of weird inspiration and decided to promote Karakura from a town to a country in this fic. So yeah, think of it as a nation-state with it's own flag and anthem in this story.**

**Disclaimer: Bleach and its characters belong to Tite Kubo.**

* * *

**-PROLOGUE-**

* * *

The open field surrounding one of Karakura's biggest office buildings was today, like any other day dangerously close to an important party rally, teeming with activity. The massive walkway that led to its colossal oak entrance was lined with a plush red carpet, bordered meticulously on both sides by a neat file of flags painted in the colours of the Quincy; a majestic swirl of white and gold.

Towards the entrance, a swarm of party workers stood ready in the colours of the party, all stiff and alert, their ears trying to pick the faintest whir of engines to indicate the arrival of the ones for which such decorations had been afforded. They were flanked by the media on all sides, their cameras and microphones ready to be clicked open the moment the congregation of important officials arrived, many of them already going on about the history of the building behind them with elaborate hand gestures, trying to build up the mood before the programme started. In a sleek line along the farthest end of the carpet, they stood with the workers who held garlands, files and umbrellas, shifting uncomfortably under the prickly Karakura heat, persevering to give a warm welcome to the Syndicate on this momentous occasion.

The syndicate of the ruling Quincy Party.

The people who mattered in a place that mattered.

A cloud of dust rising upward in the distance was the first indication of their arrival. Soon enough, a mass of white emerged like a thick shroud over the horizon, nearing the building in an impressive swirl of dust and sand. Back at the entrance, the party workers immediately got down to mending their formals; straightening ties, levelling risen hems and smoothing their pristine white shirts. Careful consideration was given to the colour of their attire. The white of the Quincy was never to be blotched or smeared. Ever.

Making his way through this frantic mass of workers, senior party member and head of the campaign division, Haschwalth, straightened his coat and prepared himself to welcome the leader. As the first of the pristine white SUVs skidded to a halt right along the edge of the plush red carpet, Haschwalth dashed forward with a worker in tow, umbrella ready to be perched atop the man who now emerged from the car, his very presence, shaking the gathered mass around into submission.

"Good morning, sir," Haschwalth greeted with a deep bow, as the majestic man turned around to look at the sea of supporters assembled especially for the occasion, every individual bowing in reverence and the media persons climbing atop their competitors from different channels, eager to get a snapshot of the man who mattered. He nodded in approval and raised his hands in acknowledgement as camera flashes hit him from all sides, creating a cacophony of down-to-business reporters shooting questions, deputies shouting out orders to their subordinates and lower party workers scrambling about their assigned duties, giving it their best to make sure everything fell into place.

"Good morning." His voice was deep and strong, a product of forty five years of working at the helm where all authority converged, his imposing frame, both a gift of his line and a result of managing the affairs of one of the biggest parties in the majestic land that was Karakura. The splendour of his appearance- intimidating and humble at the same time- the tautness of his build, and the sophistication of a body language that was both easy-flowing and well-pedigreed; all of these elements made this man, one of the most respected and sought after figures in the history of Karakura.

Turning to look at the cars that now lined his escort, party president Yhwach made the slightest of hand gestures to one of his workers. The lanky individual with a garland prepared, rushed over to the SUV that halted next in that instant, followed closely by another worker with an umbrella. Not breaking this rhythm, several other party workers came dashing forward in the same pattern, one with a garland and the other with an umbrella, ready to receive the guests emerging from the barrage of SUVs that followed.

"We'll be having a splendid panel of esteemed guests today," Yhwach declared, his tone reflecting nothing short of pride, fitting for an occasion as momentous as the one they were a part of.

"Absolutely sir," Haschwalth agreed, his eyes drawn to the figures that now emerged from the cars that followed. The Syndicate was making a grand appearance and the tension among the entourage that surrounded it, mounted to a level where it was almost palpable.

The Syndicate of the Quincy Party was, to give an accurate description of it's function and position, the life and blood of the party. Consisting of the top ring of leaders who commanded the highest echelons of power within the party's massive, well-oiled organisation, these were the people who made those decisions whose course could change the destiny of the party forever. Every move that they made, every statement that they gave, and every file that they approved, contained within it, the power to make or break the legacy of this ancient party. Through years of bloodshed in the distant past, to the strenuous political battles of the modern era, the race to acquire the seats that mattered had paved the way for the creation of a rich heritage that was well respected and approved by the citizens of Karakura. And the syndicate, to provide a clearer picture of it's significance within the party, had been at the helm of affairs throughout this tumultuous journey of political dissension and competition.

Today, the top brass had congregated to celebrate the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the famed Quincy Party and the atmosphere was electric with anticipation, an indication that the world awaited an important decision to be made within a conference of equal importance.

* * *

Seated inside one of the SUVs that now lined the entrance to the old party headquarters, Ishida Ryuken flipped open his ancient pocket watch, a family heirloom gifted to him by his grandfather, and checked the time for the umpteenth time that hour. All throughout the journey, he'd been uncharacteristically on the edge, fidgeting about on his seat and grabbing his watch to have a quick glance at the hour every five minutes or so. A small bead of sweat rolled down his neck despite the cold bursts coming in from the AC ahead, and he checked to see if his suit was fine and his tie in place.

"Everything is going to be fine, young master. I'm sure by surprise they mean a reward for your efforts in the mid-term campaign. Sir Yhwach has a taste for the grand and traditional," came a sweet, steady voice from the passenger seat in front, and Ryuken smiled like he knew he would upon hearing her calm attempt at an assurance.

"You make it sound like I think I'm heading for battle, Katagiri," he commented, letting himself be driven into the casual flow of the conversation, hoping it would ease a little of his anxiety.

Katagiri Kanae, associate cum body-guard of the young master and heir to the Ishida family, Ishida Ryuken, turned around on her seat and smiled at her boss, bread-giver, best friend; whatever you could call him. Dressed in her regular attire; an immaculate all-black suit with her hair tied in a tight bun, a holster strapped to her side, holding a semi-automatic in place, she gave the gentle, soothing smile that she was so well known for to her boss. She could see, as anyone else could too, the rigidity of his stance; his taut shoulders and back that depicted well, his failed attempt at feigning confidence and nonchalance. However, through the thin rimmed spectacles that he had worn for as long as she could remember, Katagiri Kanae could glance well at the inner turmoil that raged within her young master's heart; the questions that had been tormenting him for a long time now, a tough choice that he was perpetually making between what his heart pleaded and what his mind commanded.

"Your father understands. I'm sure he must have had a word with Sir Yhwach regarding your wish to study abroad. Besides, this faithful servant believes that the young master needs to be a bit more jubilant about this gift that he is about to receive as a result of his genuine efforts last summer. Like I said, Sir Yhwach has a taste for the grand and theatrical."

Ryuken smirked despite himself and turned to look outside the window. While the assurance surely managed to get the edge off the apprehension that he was feeling, it didn't do anything to eradicate the problem from its root. While Katagiri had a point in whatever she was saying, Ryuken knew the party's legacy and the minds of its bosses better than anyone else who claimed to be associated with the Quincy and their ideology in the least. Being a part of one of this party's 'royal families', Ishida Ryuken was a better judge of the nature of this organisation's working than he could have permitted himself to being.

Katagiri Kanae turned back on her seat, eyes set on the windshield ahead and heaved a deep sigh. There was this weakness that she'd succumbed to since forever and had ineffectively tried, time and again, to eradicate in its complete form. However, once her heart had given in to this feeble disposition, it had never bothered to see the way back.

Katagiri Kanae couldn't, for the life of her, look into the eyes of this man when he was sad and dejected, trying to make himself believe in a future he thought he'd under control. It was heart-breaking to see him go through a cruel process of disillusionment every second day of his life, confronting the reality of a life that had never been his to begin with.

Sighing, Kanae reached up to touch the little pendant that she always wore around her neck, a parting gift given to her by her father on his deathbed. A plain cent, modified to be tied around like a neckpiece, this was the symbol of a family that had given itself completely to the Ishida family, dedicating it's life and soul to the betterment and well-being of it's generous patrons. It had been years ago on a rainy night when Kanae's grandfather, Katagiri Keniji, had been taken in by Ishida Muken, then head of the Ishida family, as a trusted associate and party worker. Impressed by her grandfather's talent and managerial skills, Ishida Muken had declared his faith in his new recruit by giving him a cent out of his pocket, proclaiming that his new comrade had the skills and determination to turn that one coin into thousand such coins within a matter of weeks. With this humble vision and conviction, Ishida Muken had brought Katagiri Keniji under his ambit, teaching him the tricks of his trade and the nitty gritties of the politics that they were such an important part of, making him a more capable person in a world that had previously shunned him for his supposed weaknesses. Humbled by such a big honour bestowed upon him by the Ishida family head, Katagiri Keniji had decided to give his life away to the former, promising to let his successors uphold this tradition for as long as the Ishidas desired. It was this vow that had tied her father, Katagiri Kojiro, to Ishida Souken, and it was this pledge that now tied Kanae to Ishida Ryuken.

As simple as it sounded.

Fraught, however, with a thousand something complications that Kanae had been foolish enough to permit into this modest equation.

Katagiri Kanae had, since she'd been five years of age, looked up to the man who had come into her life like a shining ball of light after the death of her father. No matter how clichéd that sounded, Kanae had never stopped herself from describing this man as such, for he was, in the most literal sense of the term, a bright and shining guiding force that had managed to lift her from the darkness that she'd have otherwise succumbed to. Working for him and working with him made Kanae complete, and she'd die happy knowing that her efforts had made even the littlest of progress.

But, just as mentioned earlier, Katagiri Kanae had been foolish to complicate the picture that could have been much easier than she would have imagined in her dreams; she could have been a little more _detached, _as she now put it with much regret, sufficiently well embedded into the young master's business to help him through with his problems, yet, distant enough to not get affected by even the shallowest dip of his shoulders. One look into his eyes whenever he wouldn't be in the best of his moods, and Kanae would turn into a miserable lump, letting out the tears for a man who had never learnt how to weep to get his emotions out.

Today, she could see the same sadness in his eyes; sadness that made her weep within, tormenting her soul because she had to be around when the young master's dreams would be sacrificed for the ulterior goal that was his family's pride.

"I think I've prepared myself for everything," Ryuken said then, and Katagiri was brought back to the ground in a stroke. Letting go of the pendant that she'd begun to press a rather too hardly, Kanae turned around to look at her employer again. There was some amount of determination in the way he looked out of the window at the sea of workers and media persons, but his eyes never let go off that tinge of despondency that made them seem so melancholic. Kanae knew he was struggling within; fighting a battle with his heart for his feelings were never too easy to understand, caught as they were between his love for the family and his love for his career. No matter how much he wanted to pursue his studies abroad and work under the aegis of the doctors that he'd admired since he'd first learnt how to spell his own name, his love and respect for his family's legacy as an important part of the Quincy Party had never really left him. He'd been brought up to take pride in his inheritance, live with it for the rest of his life and take it with him to his grave, sacrificing his own desires for the betterment of the party, pretty much like what his ancestors had done through the course of the family's history. If his predecessors had been strong enough to make that sacrifice before him, admonished the elders, he'd to be resilient enough to make it through this necessary evil as well.

"I do have an idea about what is going to transpire in the meeting today, and I've prepared myself for it."

It seemed like Ishida Ryuken was saying this to himself rather than to the woman who sat in front, for he was looking out of the window, his voice dropped to a whisper. Kanae noticed he was fiddling with his cufflinks again, a sign she recognised as a clear indication of the mental battle that he was fighting, and she turned around for she couldn't look any longer.

It was then that she remembered something crucial; something that had slipped her mind in the hastiness that had surrounded the preparation for this event and her subsequent attempts at cheering her young master up. Reaching into her coat pocket, Kanae extracted her phone and browsed to a folder she'd been asked to save especially for this occasion.

"Masaki-sama asked me to give this to you. It's a recording she made when she heard you were to take part in the ceremony today. I think you might need these earphones as well."

Ryuken regarded the device in Katagiri's hands for a minute, looking the slightest bit puzzled. A sudden mention of Masaki seemed to have caught him off guard, and he tentatively reached for the phone and earphones that Katagiri was providing him with, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Kanae looked as her young master plugged in the earphones and played the recording, his expressions changing from sombre to serene as he looked out of the window again, this time, his lips curving upwards. Through the rear view, Kanae could drink in the genuine beam that now adorned her master's face, an expression that stood in stark contrast to the grim colours his face had been painted in a second ago.

_Masaki-sama is a magician, _she thought to herself, a sad smile making it to her lips. _She managed to make you smile where I'd no hopes of doing the same._

Her hands jumped back to the pendent and she found peace in tracing the imprint that plated its surface. Sometimes in life, Kanae felt she was inadequate in terms of the service she provided to her young master; that there were several missing spots that she'd failed to fill despite her humble efforts, the fact, hurting her to a level she'd never thought it capable of hurting. It was one of those things in life that gave you more pain than you thought was possible, looking like something harmless at first blush and then striking you with a force unimaginable. She was happy; happy that her young master had found a reason to smile, but somewhere deep down, she knew in her heart that this happiness would perhaps have increased if she too would have been a part of the reason.

_Stop it right there Katagiri Kanae. You're not entitled to think about such things. Focus on your job._

Job.

The three letter word that felt like a slap on her face every time she tried to summarise her relationship with the young master.

And yet, it was the only word that could capture well, the dynamics of their long-term association, perhaps, with the exception of some other words like duty, obligation and…well, you get the drift.

No place for friendship.

No place for…love.

"Thank you for this," Ryuken's voice interrupted her thoughts, and Katagiri jumped in her seat. "I feel…a little better now."

Kanae smiled at her master as she took back her phone and earphones.

"I'm sure you do. Masaki-sama was particularly excited about your involvement with this conference. She asked me to tell you that she is proud of your efforts and she wishes you do well in whatever it is that you decide to do."

Ryuken nodded. "I know," he said, straightening his collar and tie as the car came to a halt behind the one in which his father, Ishida Souken, was seated.

"Time to get the ball rolling."

It was funny how Katagiri Kanae thought her every emotion, her every sense was linked to this man she served. One word of encouragement on his behalf and she would feel like she'd springs in the soles of her feet, her mind and heart anew, ready to hold onto every opportunity that came her way. Sometimes, she wondered if this attachment was healthy, if it was doing to her more harm than good, but a smile from the man she'd always admired and followed was enough to melt away any apprehensions, any reservations that she harboured. Because, it was when Ishida Ryuken stepped out of the car, back straight and eyes set ahead, determinedly facing the many cameras and reporters that now threatened to block his way, Kanae Katagiri knew she'd hold onto this 'job' forever, knowing as she did, that she'd somehow learn to cope with the heartbreak that was sure to follow.

* * *

Kurosaki Masaki sighed deeply and looked out of the window at the drizzle that managed to take the edge off the heat that was particularly relentless at this time of the year. With May being a little too adamant about the amount of sunshine it delivered to the people living in the heart of Karakura, even the faintest of drizzles was like a boon to the parched land and its equally thirsting population.

However, to the young girl who looked out of the window with a kind of sparkle in her eyes, rain meant much more than just a heat-buster; thanks to her crazy girlfriends in college, Kurosaki Masaki had, against her wishes, cultivated a more romantic notion of the entire process. Hopeless as she felt about this whole business, Masaki couldn't help but sit at her study table, book long forgotten on the desk in front, eyes riveted to the window at her side, searching for some unknown entity through the sheet of droplets that pattered away on the glass.

_Damn you Kanan and Shiho! Filling my head with all that crap about romance in the rain!_

She tried to find something of interest in the book that she'd opened on the desk in front, attempting to remind herself that she'd an important exam to give in two days, but her mind was, like many of her friends often described, a perfect representation of a river flowing downstream; there was not one place that it decided to halt at and not one moment that it didn't flow ever so energetically down its designated course. Her mind, like her heart, was nimble, making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything it deemed not worth paying attention to. Therefore, to a mind that was much more interested in the rain that cleansed the streets outside, a chapter on Machiavelli's _The Prince _was of much less importance in front of the beauty that unfurled on the other side of the window.

_Rains are so romantic! Imagine having your special someone share an umbrella with you under the shower, _Shiho's voice was ringing inside her head, dizzy with ecstasy. Just a day ago, Masaki and her little band of girlfriends had been talking about usual stuff during recess in college. A simple chat session that had begun with a heated discussion on the various relationships in the uni, had turned into a pseudo-philosophical confab on love and lust. Opinions were given, advices were furnished and warnings were spelt out; and Kurosaki Masaki had been left with a bucketload of advice regarding a love life people thought existed.

Who wouldn't make such a guess anyway? She lived with The Ishida Ryuken, after all.

Tearing her gaze from the rain outside, Masaki turned around to look at a small picture perched atop her study table. It was a snapshot from twelve years ago, a reminder of a second phase in life that had begun for the last Kurosaki after being adopted into the Ishida family. Twelve years ago, Masaki lost her parents in a terrible car crash, making her the only living heir to a family that had already been fading due to a dearth of credible male inheritors. Fearing that the prestigious family, that was also an esteemed member of the Quincy Party's inner circle of privileged families, would disappear forever from the landscape of Karakuran politics, the Ishidas stepped in with much determination, bringing the little Masaki under their umbrella as a last ditch effort to replenish the party's inner elite circle.

An arrangement that had been a result of a series of political engagements and compromises that neither of the two little heirs concerned had had any idea of. They had been brought together by a sudden twist of destiny and normalised into thinking that they couldn't find a better matrimonial match for themselves in the future. That had been the beginning of Kurosaki Masaki's stay in the Ishida family; a little girl brought in after the sudden demise of her parents, well-taught and nurtured under her new family's sponsorship, destined to think of only one man as her soul-mate since a time she'd not even known what love was.

Not that Masaki suddenly had an inspiration that explained to her, the meaning of a concept as elusive as love. Love was still a mystery shrouded in darkness, and that was, perhaps, the only thing that troubled her to the point of torture.

Two more years before she'd have to walk down the aisle and she still didn't know if she loved the man she were to spend the rest of her life with.

About one thing Kurosaki Masaki was absolutely positive of. Ishida Ryuken was a wonderful man; a dutiful son, a faithful friend and an amicable, down-to-earth person. Despite having been brought up in a family that had never seen a paucity of even the merest of luxuries, surrounded as it was everlastingly, by fame, power and clout, Ishida Ryuken was still the kind of person who could walk shoulder to shoulder with a commoner from a less privileged background and not look out of place. Despite being prideful of his heritage as an Ishida, his humility and wisdom never failed to impress Masaki, and she considered herself lucky to have been introduced to a person as wonderful as him.

However, love and admiration, while compatible, are not the whole of one another. While her feelings towards her fiancé were replete with approbation, love was still an entity that remained in the shadows, making her think if this entire equation was missing a great chunk that was vital to its sustenance.

Masaki smiled as she looked at the photograph in front; two innocent kids- a plumper Masaki and a bespectacled young Ryuken- standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling sweetly at the camera ahead, unaware of the significance of the arrangement that had brought them together in the first place. There was innocence in their eyes and smile; fragments from a past where marriage had been nothing more than a thing of fun games. Countless times, she had attempted to feed Ryuken her imaginary dishes and straighten his school tie for him, thinking of herself as the 'wife' in a fairy tale like wedding. Unfortunately, that had been twelve years ago at a time when she hadn't been old enough to understand the significance of this term.

Today, however, Kurosaki Masaki understood well, the implications of an arrangement that had just been an obligation before; a return of favour, as she sometimes put it, for all that the Ishidas had done for her. With her mind now maturing with age and circumstances, Masaki had begun to get the second-thoughts that she'd always feared she'd get once she opened herself to all the romantic notions that now engulfed her like a dream that was anything but achievable.

_Stupid Masaki. Thinking about those stupid things again. _

Huffing and pouting, Kurosaki Masaki crossed her arms across her chest and slumped into her seat, her brows furrowed and her shoulders drooping. Furious that she'd let herself be driven into this line of thought again, Masaki attempted to convince herself that romance had always been, and would always be, a figment of some superbly constructed work of fiction.

_These things happen only in books and movies. The more you convince yourself of this truth, the better you do in the years to come._

Stealing a quick glance at the downpour that now seemed to have gotten a bit heavier, Masaki forced herself to glue her eyes onto the book in front, her mind beginning to process a little of Machiavelli's wisdom. A small smile began to play on her lips- an effective defence mechanism that kicked into action whenever her heart would struggle with the heaviest of emotions. With Masaki, the length of her grin was inversely propositional to the happiness that she truly felt in her heart, making it difficult for the people around to actually see past the bright beams she often passed, into the soul of a little girl who wished she'd had a little more say in even the decisions of least significance that concerned her.

* * *

Shiba Isshin was having the time of his life.

Not only had he finally made it back to his home country, getting the opportunity to land on the soil that had nurtured him and that was truly his own, but he also had the chance to finally goof around with two of the loveliest kids that he could have asked for in his life. Swinging his rucksack around his shoulder after yanking it from the baggage claim, Isshin almost skidded down the length of terminal no. 5, elbowing past a throng that had gathered around a coffee shop to look for the people he'd missed so terribly during his stay abroad.

"Voila!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, two fingers raised in a peace sign as he finally managed to spot the people he had been looking for. Standing in a corner on the other side of the said coffee shop, three Shibas, with their prominent raven hair and green eyes, waved back at him. They were standing within a tight circle of bodyguards; burly and sour looking males with rifles in their hands, scaring a few passengers who happened to cross their path.

Isshin rolled his eyes at the sight.

"And here I am, thinking you'd finally listen to your son and do away with this _entourage _that makes me feel like a prissy son of a politician," he exclaimed to his mother who stood within the well-guarded circle, pointing at the bodyguards with disdain.

It was Shiba Mariko's turn to roll her eyes.

"And what makes you think you aren't a prissy son of a politician? If we could replace the prissy with bratty, that is." She cuffed her son's head good-humouredly, her eyes crinkling with the grin that played across her lips.

"Mother dear, I'm _twenty _now. Stop hitting me on the head like I'm still waddling around in my bloomers."

"Do you _not _wear them anymore? Well, I'm surprised, to say the least."

Isshin stared at his mother for a full minute and burst out laughing at precisely the same time that she did. Mother and son chuckled to their hearts' content, pleased to known that their special way of greeting each other hadn't lost its touch.

"Do we not exist?" a sharp, slightly annoyed voice cut in through their snickers, making Isshin raise his brows in mock surprise.

"Ooops," he stage-whispered, turning around to look sheepishly at the two kids who were his life.

"Jet-lag seems to have taken its toll. It's a twenty hour journey you know?" he offered.

Twelve year old Shiba Kaien huffed loudly and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Excuses," he mumbled, purposely avoiding his uncle's gaze. "You didn't reply to my last mail."

"The mail," Isshin quipped, trying to quickly come up with an excuse to explain such a flagrant breach of protocol between himself and his nephew. "Uncle was…uncle had to…"

"Uncle had to do some work. He's a busy man you know? Give him a break, nii-chan," eight year old Shiba Kukkaku cut in, emerging from behind her elder brother to give her uncle a tight hug around his knees.

Isshin smirked while Kaien gaped at his kid sister.

"The speed at which you switch sides is amazing," the latter complained loudly. "Just five minutes ago you were going on about how you'll scold uncle for ignoring us for almost a month."

Kukkaku stuck her tongue out at her brother.

"Uncle's the best any day," she chimed, hugging him even closer.

"There there kids," Isshin cut in, before the Shiba siblings got down to showing their mighty Shiba tongue and muscles in the middle of a crowded airport. "We can finish this argument at home, can we not?"

Both kids fell silent at that. They were obviously more interested in the presents that their uncle had brought for them, and fighting here seemed like a waste of time. After all, uncle Isshin had tales to narrate of his wondrous adventures abroad.

"You'll give their governesses a run for their money someday," Mariko commented as Isshin managed to pile up the kids into the backseat of an SUV, which to his chagrin, was flashing the mark and symbol of the Shiba Peoples' Party from every inch of space available. "Those females can't handle these fireballs for more than five minutes, and you took all but two seconds to shut them up and get them into the car. Commendable."

Isshin patted himself on the back.

"One of my many talents," he said with a wink. "I haven't lost my touch you know? I reckon that's the reason old man Yama has called me back for the next term?"

Mariko stiffened a little at the mention of the party president and his urgent call to her younger son to get back to Karakura for the purpose of lending a hand in the next elections. Only Mariko knew how much she had to restrain herself from screaming her heart out at the party elders for taking, what she thought, was a foolish decision. Coming from a family where youngsters were never given a say in the career choices they wished to make, Mariko had been adamant to let her sons do whatever they wanted to do. It had been her strong will that had, in the first place, allowed the younger of her two sons to go study abroad. Unfortunately, party obligations had forced him back to where he'd started from, a testimony to the pull of the all-pervasive party and its rigid organisation. Her son may be smiling and being all perky around her, but only a mother's heart could see through the façade at the disappointment that he clearly felt at having been forced to come back all of a sudden.

"It's ok mom," Isshin whispered, putting an arm around the woman whose smile had faded somewhat. "I know what you're thinking. I haven't lost my psychic abilities ya know?"

Mariko rolled her eyes and let herself chuckle.

"I don't feel as miserable as you think I do, mom. You know I like adventures, don't you? I don't know if this makes you feel any better, but I think of this new phase in life as an adventure that I've been seeking for quite some time. I may have been, well, _coerced _into coming back into this entire business of politics, but the final decision was my own to make." He winked as he finished his little explanation.

Mariko looked into the eyes of her son for a minute, perhaps, trying to read the truth in them. Isshin looked back without hesitation and apprehension, trying to convey from his own end that he had not said a thing that could be called a lie. He did make a choice on his own volition, and he'd never been the kind to let regrets take the better of him.

"You still have the chance to turn them down. Since when have you been interested in politics, after all?" Mariko said, almost pleaded rather, unwilling to let her son have the short end of the stick. "I don't have anything against the family business. Heck, I was born into a family of politicians, after all. But, I'm the kind who believes in freedom of expression much more than the _dunces_ who should venerate it, do."

Isshin chuckled.

"You haven't changed one bit," he said, patting his mother on the shoulder. "Your feisty attitude will probably _burn _those _dunces _that you speak of into submission one day."

"Oh! You have no idea how I wish I could pull of something like that." Shiba Mariko crooned under her breath, winking at her son.

"Would have done the party, more good than you could have imagined of in your dreams."

Isshin pretended to gape conspiratorially at his mother.

"Yup. Feistiness personified," he mumbled, opening the door for her to sit. After making sure everyone was seated properly in their seats, and after reluctantly allowing a bodyguard to sit with the kids in the back, Shiba Isshin turned around to look at the driver and pointed at the keys in his hands.

"You drive the next car," he said jovially. "I'm riding them back home. It's been a long time since I drove a car. Need to polish my skills here."

The driver looked uncertain, but there was no way he could not listen to the young master's orders. Bowing, he went off to sit in the second SUV that stood behind the main one after handing him the keys hesitantly. He'd heard tales about the young master banging into stuff quite frequently while behind the wheels.

Dumping his rucksack into the boot of the car, Isshin walked quickly around its perimeter to yank open the door to the driver's seat. Mariko looked alarmed as Isshin drove the key in to start the engine.

"My my," she said, her tone back to being playful.

"Are we not going to make it home in one piece today?"

Isshin rolled his eyes.

"You know you're going to have the ride of your life, mom," he offered back, rubbing his palms before setting them confidently on the steering.

"Besides, now that I'm back, I'm pretty sure a _lot_ of people in Karakura will soon be having the time of their lives."

* * *

A few miles away in the Ishida manor, Kurosaki Masaki continued to look outside the window, knowing well that it was pointless to assume that things could get any brighter for her in the near future. On the other side of Karakura, however, Ishida Ryuken made his way through the swarm of reporters, Katagiri Kanae alert on his side, ready to take a reluctant step forward into a life that he'd no say in choosing, but a life he knew he would begin to accept for the sake of his family.

* * *

**(A/N): I've always had this picture of Isshin's mom in an alternate world inside my head. I think she'd be a like a bro to her son and grandchildren, goofing around with them and pulling Isshin's leg at every occasion possible. Am I the only one who finds the Shiba family all cool and rad?**

**Reviews. Something that would determine the due course of this story and whether or not I'll be inspired to write a chapter after this. Feedback is the fuel I need to keep writing stories to amuse myself and the readers, and I'll be glad if you write something into that little box down there and tell me if you want me to continue this or not.  
**

**-Aeria**


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